


Fly Until the Last Piece Stops Spinning

by CasusFere



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: 28 Meme, Casual Violence, Vortex being Vortex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2009-06-17
Updated: 2012-10-21
Packaged: 2017-12-24 14:22:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 8,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/941021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CasusFere/pseuds/CasusFere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>28 short stories featuring Vortex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Frightened

**Author's Note:**

> Summary: Vortex pushes Breakdown too far.
> 
> Claimed by __wilderness__ with the prompt "The tables have turned."

x-x-x

Vortex came to with the feeling that something was wrong.

He was laying on his side, scrunched up against something hard, with one arm pinned underneath him. His head and chest felt... rattled..., like he'd been caught by the shockwave from Onslaught's cannon, or standing too close when a missile hit. And he had no idea where he was or how he'd got there.

_Trippy,_ he thought, onlining his optics and sitting up.

Or at least, he tried to. Something was obscuring his vision, and the moment he tried to move, he realized that he wasn't just laying on his arm, they were bound behind him.

“Yup, definitely something wrong,” he muttered out loud.

“I told you to leave me alone,” a voice said out of the darkness, sounding agitated.

“...Breakdown?” Vortex's head turned toward the noise. Well, that explained the rattled feeling and the unconsciousness. “Buddy! Wanna let me out?”

“No.”

“Aw, come on, be a pal here.” Vortex shifted, levering himself into a sitting position. His voice went silky, almost pleasant but with a threatening undertone that usually had Breakdown cowering. “Let me go, and I won't hold a grudge. All in good fun, right?”

“No.” The refusal was short.

“What?” Vortex asked, honestly surprised by the refusal.

“No, I'm not going to let you out,” Breakdown snapped. “You're not my 'buddy,' you're not my friend, you torment me and push me-”

“He-ey, that's all just friendly teasing...” Vortex was starting to feel nervous himself. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He did the harassment and the tying up, not Breakdown! “I didn't _mean_ anything by it, buddy...”

“Stop calling me that!” Breakdown was getting more agitated.

“It was a good joke, buddy, but I think it's time to let me out,” Vortex said, feeling more comfortable the more upset Breakdown got. This was more familiar ground! “After all, it doesn't matter what you do to me now... what matters is what happens when I get loose.”

Silence met his threat.

“You won't be getting out,” Breakdown said quietly, sounding almost eerily calm. “I'm tired of you, watching me, following me, poking at me...” His engine hitched. “So I'm going to take care of the problem,” he continued after a moment. “Don't bother trying to radio for help, I've already disabled it. Of course, they might know if I killed you, so you're going to stay right here, where I always know where you are.”

A cold feeling was building Vortex's fuel lines. “Wait, you're _leaving_ me here?”

“Yes, yes I am,” Breakdown said, a strange note entering his voice. Vortex could swear he almost sounded _relieved_.

The beginnings of panic made his fuel pump clench. He'd spent enough time locked in a drawer on Cybertron, he wasn't going to spend the rest of his existence locked in some dump on a backward planet!

Vortex tried to heave himself to his feet, only to find that his rotors had been secured to a bar behind him. He landed back on his aft, swearing at Breakdown.

Breakdown seemed unimpressed by the display, footsteps echoing on the floor as he walked away.

There was a creak of a door opening, then a pause. “Goodbye, Vortex.”

“Hello, Breakdown,” cut in another voice.

“S-swindle...” Breakdown stammered.

“Swindle?” Vortex asked hopefully, turning towards the new voice.

Swindle ignored him. “Would you like to explain what you're doing with my team mate, Breakdown?”

“Nothing...” Breakdown started “I, uh, was just leaving...”

“Yes, you were. And if I catch you trying to screw with my team again, I'm going to shove my gyroblaster up your tailpipe, disable your motor functions, and weld you to a pedestal as the newest statue in Times Square for everyone to gawk at. Got me?”

“Y-yeah,” Breakdown squeaked.

“Get out of my sight,” Swindle growled. Breakdown scrambled through the door with a clatter.

“Gee, Stumpy, I didn't know you cared so much!” Vortex relaxed in his bonds, grinning behind his battlemask in Swindle's vague direction.

“I'm not sure why I bother,” Swindle growled. “You brought this one on yourself, you know that?”

“Who, me?” Vortex asked in mock innocence, relief making him almost giddy.

“Yes, you! How far do you think you can push everyone until someone like Breakdown snaps and offs you in your sleep?”

“Pssh, he wouldn't really have done anything,” Vortex insisted, happily ignoring all evidence to the contrary.

“He- you know what? I've had it with you. You can stay here until Ons figures out what the frag happened to you, for all I care.” There was a metallic clang as Swindle slammed the door open and stomped out.

“Hey, Swindle, don't be like that- Swindle? Swindle! Come back here and let me out! SWINDLE!”


	2. Frightened

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Swindle and Vortex commiserate on Chaar. Claimed by: jessara40k

“This sucks,” Vortex muttered, still sprawled out on the dirt.

“You said it,” Swindle answered glumly, tipping over an empty cube, the last of their stockpiled supplies.

Vortex blew air in a heavy sigh, a gesture picked up from too much time watching humans on Earth. Dirt blew up in little eddies, miniature versions of his namesake.

He watched the dust drift across the rocks and wished he was back on Earth.

He hadn't realized that he'd spoken out loud until Swindle responded. “You aren't the only one,” he muttered. “Anything's better than this.”

“Almost anything,” Vortex corrected. “At least we're not stuffed in a drawer.”

Swindle chuckled, but there wasn't any humor in the sound. “Yeah. At least it's not that.” He flopped down next to Vortex. “Y'know, for a organic-covered dustball, Earth really wasn't that bad, was it?”

They lay there in silence for a long moment.

“I'm hungry,” Vortex grumbled into the silence.

Swindle shook his head. His tanks were nearly empty as well, but his larger gestalt mates had it worse than he did. Being the smallest in the team had one advantage at least – he was also the most fuel efficient of the bunch.

“I know,” he replied eventually. It wasn't like either of them could do anything about it.

Vortex sighed again, slowly fanning his rotors.

They'd fallen back to Chaar under the pretenses of regrouping, intending on sorting themselves out and mounting a counter-strike against the Autobots. It wouldn't have been the first time the Decepticon forces had been forced to abandon a world, but it was the first time they'd been routed so throughly. Now they were trapped, unable to manufacture enough energon on Chaar to keep themselves functional, much less fueled enough for attack.

“I hate this planet,” Vortex muttered.

“I know,” Swindle repeated.

Vortex fell silent again, idly tracing nonsensical patterns in the dirt with a fingertip. “Maybe the box wasn't so bad,” he said after a moment.

Swindle shifted to look over at his team mate. Vortex hated being locked up; in fact, he could barely stand being cooped up in their underwater base back on Earth. Of the Combaticons, the helicopter had been the one who had come out of their imprisonment the worst off.  _If he's thinking that bein' in the box is better than bein' out here, he really isn't doing well_ , Swindle thought in surprise.

“At least I wasn't hungry in the box, y'know?” Vortex continued, scrubbing out the designs he'd drawn.

Sympathy wasn't something Swindle felt often, but he found himself reaching out and resting a hand over the nearest rotorblade. “I know.”

Onslaught's shadow fell over them. “Ah, there you two are.” Onslaught's voice sounded as tired as Swindle felt. “Come on. The others are already back at camp. We need to stick together.”

“Yeah, we're comin',” Swindle answered, levering himself to his feet.

Onslaught nodded once and turned to trudge back down to their makeshift camp.

Swindle waited for Vortex to drag himself up before following. “Don't worry, Tex, we'll get through this.” The words sounded hollow even to him.

“Yeah,” was all Vortex said, but Swindle couldn't tell if he meant it or not.


	3. Disorganized

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vortex finally gets his hands on Springer. Things do not go quite as he expects. Claimed by kirin_saga

 

x-x-x

“Find it yet?” Springer called out, surreptitiously checking his restraints.

Vortex turned to give his prisoner a glare.

Springer gave him his best smile. “Just asking.”

Turning away, Vortex went back to digging through his equipment, muttering to himself.

“Take your time,” Springer told him. “I'm not in a hurry.”

Vortex's rotors twitched back in irritation. “I tell them, stay out of my stuff. Is that so fragging hard?” he muttered, ignoring Springer.

“Apparently,” Springer answered anyway.

Vortex growled and picked up a scalpel. “ _Not_ what I was looking for.” He held up the tool. “But it'll do in a pinch.”

“If you'd prefer to reschedule, I have some time free next Tuesday,” Springer offered. His voice was light, but he eyed the scalpel with trepidation.

“Scared, Springer?” Vortex purred, trailing the scalpel up his leg armor.

“Just offering. Always striving to be polite, that's me,” he said, trying to ignore the sharp sting from the scalpel. “Do you mind? That's ticklish.”

“You have no idea how long I've been waiting to get a hold of you,” Vortex continued pleasantly, scraping little designs into Springer's armor. “I've been thinking all sorts of things we can do together-”

“He has, too. On and on and on...” Brawl said, shoving the door open and stomping inside. “Fragger never shuts up.”

“What- BRAWL!” Vortex straightened, turning toward the door. “What the _frag_ do you want?”

“Just needin' to borrow a knife.” He headed for Vortex's tools. “Blast Off's whining about somethin' or other needin' trimming.”

“Tell him to go bother someone else, because my equipment is not communal property!”

“Do you two need some time alone? Because I could leave...” Springer offered from the table.

“No one else to bother,” Brawl pointed out. “We got one of those, whatchacallit, satellite bases.”

“I don't care! Bother Onslaught about it!”

“He's not back yet,” Brawl told him, reaching for the tool case again, only to find a scalpel pointed at his optic. “Hey! What's that for?”

“If you don't leave, I'm gonna _give_ you a knife, right between the optics!” Vortex snapped, still brandishing the scalpel.

“Why didn't you do that in the first place instead of standin' around yappin'? I've got better things to do than watch you throw tantrums,” Brawl said, either missing or ignoring the threat.

Probably missing it, Springer reflected, lifting his head to watch the spat.

Vortex's rotors twitched. Then he chucked the scalpel at Brawl, burying the tip in his shoulder armor.

“Ow! That fraggin' hurt!” Brawl yanked the blade out, fingering the shallow cut. “Slagger.”

“Out!” Vortex demanded.

“Fine,” Brawl growled, turning for the day. “Fraggin' crazy glitch-processored-” The door closed on the string of insults.

Springer grinned as Vortex stood there, rotors spasming. “Family time?”

Vortex turned to glare at him. “Terribly sorry, where were we?” Silky menace filled his voice.

“You were losing your scalpel again,” Springer told him cheerfully. He really shouldn't be entertained by the way Vortex twitched at that, but he was. _Put it down to a twisted sense of humor,_ he thought, giving Vortex his best innocent smile.

The helicopter's engine growled, turning back to his tool case.

Springer valiantly managed to refrain from laughing.

Sparing him a glare, Vortex picked out a new scalpel, grumbling to himself.

“ _Vortex, we have a problem,”_ Blast Off's smooth voice broke in over the comm a moment later.

Vortex buried his face in his hands, unmindful of the blade that came within a finger's width of stabbing him in the optic. “What _now?_ ”

“ _The Autobots have captured Onslaught and Swindle. They're demanding we return Springer in exchange for our idiot companions.”_

“What? No! I just got him!” Vortex knew he was whining, but he didn't care. “Do you have any idea how long I've been-”

“ _Pining over him? Yes, I've noticed. The_ _ **entire**_ _Decepticon fleet has noticed,”_ Blast Off told him dryly.

“No.” Vortex folded his arms petulantly. “I won't do it.”

“ _I'll be sure to let Onslaught know your opinion on the matter. Now hurry up and get him ready to transport._ ”

“Who died an' made you boss?” Vortex muttered after the comm clicked off.

“My guess would have been Onslaught, but apparently he was just captured,” Springer told him cheerfully.

Vortex looked over at him, rotors wilting."But...Slaggit..." Disappointment radiated off the helicopter as he snapped cuffs on Springer and started undoing the table restraints.

If it wasn't for the fact that what Vortex wanted to do probably included carving him into tiny pieces and certainly included a great deal of pain, Springer would have almost felt sorry for him.

...Almost.


	4. Playing with Animals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vortex decides to spend his free time tormenting Ravage. Unfortunately, he forgot to account for the fact that Soundwave's cassettes are heavily armed. Claimed by nkfloofiepoof

Vortex hummed to himself as he worked, horribly out of tune in a tone not unlike metal shearing.

“'Tex, what the frag are you doing?” Swindle finally growled, unable to concentrate on his datapad.

“Making a kitty bell,” Vortex told him gleefully, continuing to wire a tiny speaker into a box, rotors waving jauntily.

Swindle eyed the mess on the table and decided that for once, he didn't want to know. “Is it too much to ask for you to do it quietly?”

“That would ruin the fun,” Vortex told him.

Swindle snorted. “Whatever. Just don't involve me.”

“C'mon, you wanna watch,” Vortex waved a rotor at him. “You know you do.”

Swindle hesitated, unable to shake the feeling he was making a mistake. But frag it, now he was curious! “...Fine.”

“Relax, Swindle, it'll be fun!”

x-x-x

Ravage stalked down the hallway with the nagging feeling that he was being watched. He paused at the corner, giving the Combaticons down the corridor a cold look. When neither Swindle or Vortex seemed to pay him any attention, he growled to himself, eying the vent covers above.

A powerful leap carried him to the vent opening, claws snagging in the grill. Nothing.

Torn between perplexed and irritated, Ravage twisted and dropped back to the corridor floor.

And promptly went airborne again as a deafening shriek exploded next to his audios.

He clung to a pipe sticking out of the wall, snarling as Vortex burst out laughing, leaning against the wall for support. Swindle covered his face with his hands, but not before Ravage saw the smirk.

The cassette growled, and primed his missiles. _Let's see them laugh at this..._

Swindle heard the tell-tale whine of his missiles coming online, and stopped snickering. “Uh, 'Tex...”

Ravage showed his teeth as they both started backing away.

There was nothing more satisfying than the sight of your tormentors turning tail and fleeing... except, Ravage reflected happily, the sight of the two missiles chasing them down the corridor.


	5. Surprised

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Battlefields are bad places for inner monologues. Claimed by agiftedmind

Vortex was bored.

Not that this was unusual; Vortex was often bored. Boredom was the primary driving force behind the vast majority of his antics. In fact, sometimes the only thing keeping him from going completely insane from sheer lack of anything to do was seeing how far he could push insert-volatile-Decepticon's-name-here.

That was the problem with being smarter than everyone else, he reflected. No one else realized the amount of mental stimulation required to keep you interested.

Take the battle going on below him, for example. Grade-A boring. Way too predictable, to the point where Vortex could almost say the lines with them.

He entertained himself for a few seconds with the thought of writing it out as a script, giving all the parts to wrong people. The image of Optimus Prime simpering like Starscream amused him.

He hovered in place, cheerfully assigning parts to the other combatants and utterly ignoring the voices swearing at him over the comm. Something about getting his lazy aft in gear, he thought.

More proof that no one understood the horrors of boredom like he did. He idly dodged a missile and swooped out of the way of laser fire, and went on imagining Megatron punctuating his threats with “Zam! Pow!”

He figured he probably should contribute something, and opened fire on Bluestreak, trapping the snipper against a cliff, twisting and dancing to avoid the shots.

See, now that was entertaining!

“VORTEX! Look out!” A tiny little Swindle-voice broke into his puppeteering, sounding strangely panicked.

Huh.

Curious, Vortex turned in place to see what was so important.

For a split second, he wondered why the frag Skywarp was pulling a Ramjet impression on him...

Then Air Raid slammed into his side in the most beautifully suicidal maneuver he'd ever witnessed. The jet's wing clipped his rotors, sheering off as the rotorblades shattered against it.

They tumbled together, close enough that Vortex could hear the incoherent screaming coming over both their commlinks before the sound was stolen away by rushing air. The jet seemed to have knocked himself out, completely unresponsive to the frantic calls of his gestalt mates.

The searing pain in his side and rotor assembly was making him feel a little fuzzy, but Vortex managed two thoughts before the ground rushed up to meet him.

First, the jet was quite possibly the most _insane_ person he'd ever run into...

...and second, he was in _love!_


	6. Falling Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vortex tries out jet judo. Claimed by eerian-sadow

“How come no one ever does that to me?” Vortex complained, watching Dirge trying desperately to dump his unwanted passenger.

“Why would you want them to?” Swindle growled, checking the charge on his weapon.

“Because it looks _fun!_ ” Vortex folded his arms and sulked.

“So go hover over one of 'em and see if you can get him to jump on,” Brawl suggested.

Vortex paused. “Brawlie, that has to be the best idea you've ever had!”

“Vortex, what the frag are you-” Swindle started as Vortex transformed and took off. “Vortex! Get your whirly aft back here!”

x-x-x

“Look out, Sideswipe! You have incoming!”

Sideswipe ducked as Vortex passed overhead. The chopper didn't seem to notice him, dropping into a hover a few hundred feet away.

 _Oh, this is just too perfect,_ Sideswipe thought, an evil smirk growing. “Hey, Sunny, have you ever had an urge to try Chopper-Fu?”

“ _What?”_

His smirk widened. “Just watch and learn.” He charged out from behind the rock, activating his jetpack and latching onto Vortex's landing struts. “I can't believe we haven't done this before... He's even got handlebars!”

“ _What the frag are you doing, Sideswipe?”_

It took Sideswipe a split second to realize that Vortex wasn't shrieking in rage like he'd expected.

... He was _cackling_.

Sideswipe tightened his grip as Vortex climbed, swinging his legs up and wrapping them around the landing strut.

“Come on, Autobot, let's go _flying_.” With that, Vortex banked hard, looping his way across the battlefield.

 _This isn't that bad,_ Sideswipe thought, clinging hard. Alright, so the whirling blades sometimes being _underneath_ him was disconcerting, because Vortex didn't seem to believe in the idea that helicopter rotors were supposed to stay on top, and spent nearly as much time upside down and sideways as right-side up. But really, it wasn't much worse than trying to hold onto Thrust.

“Hey, do you know why helicopters have tail rotors?” Vortex asked cheerfully.

“Huh?” Sideswipe had a bad feeling about this.

“Because if you take them off, it does this,” Vortex told him, stopping his tail rotor.

Without the balancing _push_ of the tail blades, his entire body started to turn, spinning around faster and faster.

“OH PRIMUS, WE'RE FAAAAAAAALLIIIIIIING!” Vortex shrieked gleefully, spinning like a demented top in midair and making no attempt to catch himself.

“ _Sideswipe! Get out of there!”_ Sunstreaker yelled over the comm.

“I can't!” Sideswipe tried not to panic, but it was way too easy to imagine what would happen if he let go and clipped the spinning blades.

 _Lamborghini salad for dinner_ , he thought, tightening his grip. Ground and sky spun around him, leaving him dizzy with his gyros unable to compensate.

“VORTEX! Stop playing around and get over here!” Onslaught's bellow could be heard over the din of rotors and rushing wind.

“Aw, Ons, you're no fun,” Sideswipe's captor whined. “Sorry, but Spoilsport over there says the ride's over.” He reactivated his tail rotor, stopping the spin so suddenly that Sideswipe lost his grip and found himself flung into the air.

He didn't have time to activate his jetpack before he hit the ground, skidding painfully across the dirt and rocks.

“Ow.” Laying still sounded like a good idea, he thought, staring dazedly at the dirt in front of his face. Someone was yelling something over his radio, but Sideswipe really couldn't bring himself to care.

A nice recharge, in this comfortable furrow of dirt....

Hands grabbed him, turning him over. Sideswiped blinked up the bright sunlight, reflecting off polished yellow armor.

“...Sunny?”

“Don't fragging call me that,” Sunstreaker growled. “What in the name of the slagging Pit are you doing?”

“Lying down,” Sideswipe told him.

“You're a slagging idiot,” Sunstreaker snapped back. “What the frag possessed you to jump on fragging Vortex? I figured even you weren't that stupid, but here you are, proving to me that there is no end to you idiocy!”

“...It sounded like fun?” Sideswipe ventured. He tried to sit up, but damage warnings flashing across his vision told him that was probably a bad idea. And judging by the way Sunstreaker's hands were twitching, it might be a good idea to just lie back and be quiet for a while.


	7. Cleaning a Mess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Swindle and Vortex sneak back into base after a deal gone bad. Claimed by mmouse15

“Ew, Swindle, it's up my exhaust ports!” Vortex whined, sitting on the floor of the washracks, trying to scrape off the splattered black tar-like goo with a tail-rotor blade.

“Shut up before you get us caught!” Swindle smacked his team mate in the leg, furiously trying to scrub the sticky sludge off his plating. “This is all your fault.”

“Mine? This wasn't my idea! You're the one who thought it would be a brilliant idea to go there in the first place!” Vortex shoved him back.

“I'm not the one who decided to go swimming in an asphalt pit!” Swindle snapped back.

“I didn't hit it on purpose! It was _your_ contacts who decided to turn on us!”

“You provoked them!”

“I did not!” Vortex flug the filthy washrag at Swindle's head.

Swindle snatched it off and glared, black soapy streaks running down his face.

Vortex glared back for a moment, then snickered.

“What's so fragging funny?” Swindle demanded.

“You look so...” Vortex trailed off, giggling as the soap suds dribbled down Swindle's face. “Ridiculous!”

“Yeah, yeah, well, so do you,” Swindle grumped. He tossed the dirty rag back at Vortex. “C'mon, let's get cleaned up before Onslaught catches us and feeds us our gearboxes.”

“There's one problem with that, Swindle,” broke the cool voice of their team leader from behind him.

Swindle's fuel pump skipped a beat. “Ons!” He pasted on a smile, turning to face the Combaticon leader. “Fancy meeting you here...”

“Funny thing happened today,” Onslaught said, ignoring him, leaning with deceptive casualness against the door frame and crossing his arms. “I came down to ask you a question, and you weren't here. Or anywhere on base, for that matter. But that couldn't be right, seeing as I distinctly remember ordering both of you to stay put until I gave you permission to leave. In fact, I also remember telling both of you that if you even thought of disobeying my orders again, I was going to personally remove your internals with my bare hands. So, do either of you have anything to say for yourselves?”

Throughly caught and covered in the sticky black evidence, the two conspirators considered their options. Running was out – Onslaught was taking up most of the only doorway out of the washracks. Neither of them wanted to push their luck with their commander's volatile temper, and they would be hard-pressed to find an excuse for leaving base that Onslaught would accept.

So they did the only sensible thing they could do.

Simultaneously, they pointed at each other. “It was his idea!”


	8. Lonely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vortex finds himself stranded alone on a lifeless planet after a scouting mission gone wrong. Claimed by usemychopsticks

x-x-x

  


Wind howled down the barren canyons of an alien world, unrelenting and unmerciful. The constant wind had formed the canyon walls and outcroppings into bizarre twisted monoliths, strange statues with no one to admire them.

Until now, at least.

“This sucks,” Vortex muttered outloud, planting himself on a rock. He gave the rock formations a morose look. “Stupid planet.”

The landscape didn't answer his insult.

“And boring, too,” Vortex added spitefully. His rotors twitched as a rock fragment pinged off a blade before being blown farther along by the incessent wind. “You did that on purpose,” he accused the wind.

He sat in silence for a few moments longer, just to see if it'd respond. Just in case.

“I hate crash landings,” he grumbled eventually. “And scouting. Because scouting leads to crashing, and crashing sucks.”

Silence again.

“And you suck too, Swindle,” he added for good measure. He'd tried to convince Swindle to come with him, just so he'd have some company, but his gestalt mate had refused. And so had Blast Off. Brawl just laughed at him. Whining at Onslaught got him no where, as usual.

Fraggers.

It wasn't like he was _lonely..._ He didn't actually like them, after all. They were just the bunch of jerks he was stuck with. He didn't miss any of them. Who would?

Brawl was dumb as a rock. _He'd probably like this place,_ Vortex thought to himself, folding his arms and sulking. _There's a whole pile of rocks. Plenty of things around with the same level of processing speed_. Really, being stuck on a planet with conversations limited to one-sylable words?

And Blast Off was a jerk. He was the definition of jerk. They should put his picture next to the entry for “jerk” in the dictionary. Vortex could hear him now, snobbily insisting that if it had been _him, he_ wouldn't have been stuck on some stupid planet. No, he would have done everything _perfect,_ and he'd be back to base by now, doing whatever it was that Blast Off did in his spare time.

Vortex spotted a rock shaped vaguely like Blast Off's head and gave it a kick. It bounced off the edge and rattled down the canyon wall without a complaint.

Totally not as good as kicking the real thing.

And Swindle! Good riddence! He would have just... just...

Vortex couldn't think of any really horrible annoying things that Swindle would have done, but he was sure there was something. He ignored the part of his processor pointing out that he _liked_ Swindle's schemes.

Stupid Swindle, spending his time scheming rather than going on boring scouting missions with Vortex.

He shifted position, giving the broken transport a dirty look. Stupid shuttle. Stupid planet. Stupid Onslaught, making him go out in the first place.

... He really wished one of them were here.

So he could punch them, he told himself sternly. _Not because I miss them or anything._

He scuffed his foot in the dirt. _Nope. No missing here._

Hadn't anyone noticed when he didn't come back? Alright, so sometimes he got distracted and took a sidetrip or something. But really, he always came back eventually! Sooner or later they'd realize he wasn't just galavanting around and come looking, right?

...Right?

He scrapped a wobbly white line across the rock he was sitting on with a rotor, feeling sulky. Totally sulky, not lonely at all. Honest.

Frag it, he wished he was back at base with the others. Because there was stuff to do, not because the others were there. Yeah.

Hey, his comms were crackling.

_“-Fragging answer me already, 'Tex!”_

“ _...Swindle?”_

“ _Who the frag else would bother to come get your stupid aft?”_

“ _Considering that your vehicle mode is utterly unsuitabe for space travel, the answer to that would be me.”_

“ _Shut up, Blast Off. No one asked you.”_

“ _... You guys missed me!”_

“ _The frag we did!”_

“ _Swindle's been driving us all insane with his incessent whining.”_

“ _Oh, go rust your skidplate.”_


	9. Under the Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blast Off tries to enjoy some peace and quiet. Claimed by meenah-spider

The base was silent for once, Blast Off noted, content to lay back against the rocks outside. _Wonderfully, beautifully silent. No bickering, no whining, no shouting..._ He had no idea what had gotten into his gestalt mates tonight, but he was perfectly happy to let it stay there.

Swindle had locked himself in his quarters to plot some sort of scheme or another. Onslaught was taking advantage of the time to pour over battle tactics without obnoxious interruptions. Even Vortex and Brawl, neither of whom ever seemed to appreciate the meaning of the words "quiet time," had managed to distract themselves in some personal activity or another.

What, exactly, Blast Off neither knew nor cared as long as they left him alone.

He settled back, tilting his his head back to look up at the stars. This wasn't quite the solitude of space, but it would suffice for the moment. And it had the added advantage of not costing the majority of his fuel stores to get to.

Blast Off didn't consider himself to be a sentimental mech, but there were times he missed Cybertron and the days before the energon shortages. Admittedly, mostly for practical reasons...

For instance, he could have afforded to go more than walking distance outside the base to relax, he thought in irritation as gravel crunched off to the side, heavy footsteps coming closer. He didn't bother getting up to look who it was. He'd find out entirely too soon anyway.

He hoped it was Swindle or Onslaught – both mechs usually only talked to him when they had something to say, which meant he could ditch them quickly and get back to his comfortable silence. Conversing with Brawl tended to be an exercise in frustration, and Vortex's chosen topics ranged from the disturbing to the bizarre.

 _Apparently, luck is really not with me tonight,_ Blast Off thought in exasperation as Vortex plopped down next to him.

Vortex craned his neck peering up at the sky. "What're you lookin' at?"

"I'm contemplating the possibility of a meteorite hitting you in the head and fixing your processor," Blast Off told him in irritation.

"Odds are astronomically low," Vortex told him, giggling at his own pun.

Blast Off glared. "I could see about increasing them," he threatened. He knew soon as he said it that it was a bad idea – Vortex liked to see how far he could push someone, find ways to get under their plating and trigger reactions. Any reaction, really. Threatening him was seen as encouragement.

But for once, Vortex didn't seem interested in pursuing the opening. Blast Off frowned behind his mask and gave Vortex a suspicious sideways look.

Vortex didn't seem to be paying him any attention, leaning back on his hands and peering up at the sky.

"So... which one's Cybertron?" Vortex asked, sounding just a bit too innocent.

"Not visible from here, as I'm quite sure you're aware," Blast Off huffed back.

Vortex's rotors lifted, waggling slightly. Blast Off got the impression that Vortex was grinning at him despite the battlemask. "But it's funner to make you say it."

"Your processor is glitched," Blast Off growled, pointedly turning his face skyward again and ignoring Vortex.

"Takes one to know one," Vortex said in a cheerful sing-song.

Blast Off gave him another irritated look. "What the frag is that supposed to mean?" he demanded.

Vortex shrugged his rotors. "Hey, you're the one who claims to be a genius." He gave Blast Off one of those sly looks that the shuttle was sure he'd picked up from Swindle. "Figure it out."

"Not worth the processing time," Blast Off huffed.

"Yeah," Vortex agreed, surprising his gestalt mate. "It's probably not. But hey, what else is there to do around here?"

"Go bother Onslaught."

"Later." Vortex beamed at him. "Right now I'm on the 'Bother Blasty' timeslot. Don't you feel special?"

"Oh, I'm just ecstatic with joy," Blast Off said flatly.

Vortex cackled, and Blast Off huffed air through his intakes, resigning himself to the loss of his solitude and comforting silence.


	10. Angry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blades has everything Vortex wants. Claimed by hecate-19

Blades snorted when Streetwise grabbed his landing gear, stopping his take-off short.

"No, don't leave me here with _them!_ " Streetwise begged, grinning. "Them" was the rest of the gestalt team, indulging themselves in an afternoon of sunshine and horseplay.

"Hands off, afthead," Blades growled back without any heat. "I've got patrol, unlike the rest of you layabouts."

"Oh, sure, use the whole 'I have patrol' excuse." Streetwise hung on, laughing. "I suppose I can let you go this once, but you're gonna have to make it up to all of us later."

"Whatever." Blades gave his alt mode a shake. "Off, Streets, before I decide to take off with you attached."

Streetwise finally let go of the strut, patting him on the side. "Remember! You owe us!"

Blades just snorted again, titling his rotors and banking away from his teammates before climbing to patrolling altitude. Honestly, he didn't mind his gestalt-mate's antics, but that didn't mean he was going to _encourage_ him. He'd never get any peace and quiet again-

The glue pellet impacted his rotary assembly almost as soon as he was out of sight and hearing of his gestalt team, fouling his rotors and hardening inside the assembly. He barely had time for more than a started cry before he was tumbling into the trees below.

Branches and tree trunks snapped and crunched, the ground rushing towards him-

When Blades woke, he was vaguely aware that he'd reverted to root mode – but he didn't remember attempting to transform. He appeared to be sitting, leaning against a tree trunk. Shaking his head, he tried to figure out what had just happened... flying patrol. The impact on his rotors. Falling.

He'd been ambushed by Decepticons. The realization went through him like the jolt from a lightening strike, and he sat up – or tried to.

He was stuck to the tree. _Glue. I'm fraggin' glued to the tree._ His hands had been pulled around the back of the tree trunk, and glued there as well. Well, that told him who had got the drop on him-

Vortex.

The Decepticon chopper favored a glue-pellet rifle, he remembered. As the only other rotary-type Cybertronian on the planet, Blades had spent time studying the video the Autobots had archived of the helicopter maneuvering in battle. He'd had the passing thought that he wouldn't mind asking Vortex a few questions if he had the chance, but this was _not_ what he'd had in mind. The Decepticon had obviously ambushed him, and glued him down to keep him in place and defenseless.

As much as it pained him to admit it, he needed backup.

He tried to bring up his radio, only to receive the diagnostic message _Communication systems off line. Manuel repair required._

"Frag," he muttered out loud.

"That about sums it up," an agreeable voice said. Fallen branches crunched underfoot as Vortex meandered around into his field of view.

"What the frag do you want, Deceptiscum?" Blades demanded. He'd be missed quickly, when he didn't make a comm check at the required time, and he wasn't far from the rest of his team. Backup would arrive soon, he just had to hold out until then.

"It's not fair," Vortex told him, the agreeable tone going out of his voice, leaving it an almost petulant grating whine.

"Life ain't. Your point?" Blades had no idea what the other helicopter was going on about, but he found he really didn't care.

"They _like_ you." Vortex didn't seem to be listening to Blades, caught up in his own rambling train of thought. "It's not fraggin' fair. _Mine_ don't like me. I don't see why you get to be special."

"My what? What the frag are you goin' on about."

"Your team!" Vortex twitched his rotors in agitation. "They're all lovey and cuddly and _likey_ and _it's not fair._ "

A cold feeling was working its way through his fuel lines. He ignored it, refusing to let the Decepticon get to him. "Yours think you're a crazy fragger too?" He shook his head. "Congratulations, go shoot 'em in the head or somethin'."

"I can't," Vortex said, plaintive. "I can't get rid of them or this stupid chip in my head and _it's not fair._ "

"Yeah, alright." Blades tried to lean away from Vortex, but he was stopped short by the glue. Where the frag was his backup? He didn't know what Vortex was talking about, he didn't _want_ to know what Vortex was talking about, and he'd lost any urge he'd ever had to try to talk to the fragging crazy slagger...

"So if _I_ can't have a nice team like yours, then neither can you," Vortex said, voice calming.

"...You're gonna shoot me because my team likes me?" This couldn't be happening. No one was this nuts... were they?

"Nope," Vortex told him, voice suddenly cheerful again.

His captor's mood swings weren't doing anything for the sick feeling creeping through Blades' systems.

"I'm gonna shoot _them_ and you're gonna watch."

Blades felt like he'd taken a nosedive into the Pacific. " _What?_ "

Vortex hummed to himself, a low-off key sound that wasn't helping Blades' nerves. "Someone tried to comm you while you were out, so I'm pretty sure they're on their way. And since your widdle friends are nice and close, they're going to come bursting through here thinking you crashed and are layin' 'round horribly wounded somewhere." He giggled. "Don't worry, just sit right there, and you'll get a great view of the party."

"I'll kill you," Blades said, voice flat.

Vortex patted him on top of the helm. "I'm sure."


	11. Cuddling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post BOT. Swindle tries to avoid his team and the lingering consequences of selling them for scrap. Claimed by tiptoptile

Swindle had expected Blast Off would be the first to get over the whole sold-you-for-scrap thing.

He'd underestimated how much Blast Off took it as an affront to his person, undoubtedly, to Swindle's mind, because it had been as _scrap._ Swindle would lay good odds that he wouldn't have been so upset if Swindle had advertised him as a top-off-the-line spacecraft and sold him to a collector. Whatever the case, the shuttle was holding a grudge and didn't seem inclined to ease up any time soon. And while he didn't go out of his way to pound on Swindle, he was more than happy to hold the Jeep for Brawl.

Onslaught hadn't said a single word to him that wasn't strictly necessary, and for a mech who tended to expound upon everything until the listen offlined from boredom, the silence was telling. Swindle had been relieved at first by the lack of remonstration and lectures, but the frosty silences and cold stares were enough to get under even _his_ thick plating.

Worse, someone had repeated Swindle's comment that no one would notice the lack of Brawl's personality component to the mech himself. Brawl had taken it with his usual lack of aplomb, and had made good use of every chance he had to lay hands on Swindle. Onslaught had confiscated every piece of smuggled hardware he'd had stashed in his quarters, and a good bit of what he'd had stashed elsewhere. Swindle didn't dare dig out any of the rest of his cache, not with Onslaught and the rest of the fraggers were so tight on his aft. He didn't want to lead the fraggers to the last of his weaponry.

Unfortunately this left him painfully low on armaments, in a base full of mechs who hated him for either betraying the Combaticons, or being a Combaticon in the first place.

He peered through the doorway of the mess hall, checking for any sign of his erstwhile teammates before heading for the energon dispenser at a fast limp. His entire body ached from that last encounter with Brawl, even days later, and his left arm socket kept making a grating noise that he was sure wasn't a good thing. He'd managed to avoid contact with the team for the last couple days, which was no easy feat in an enclosed base like this one, and required a great deal of careful orchestration and left him with very little time or safe place to recharge. But the pain was a good reminder of why he valued avoiding beatings over getting rest.

Thrust snickered as Swindle slunk in. Swindle pretended to ignore him, but in reality, his audios strained to catch the slightest noise that might be the jet moving to attack him. The whole base knew about what happened between him and his team, and they knew he'd lost the protection usually afforded by his team – and his heavy weaponry. So far they'd been content to just watch and laugh, but Swindle couldn't help but feel like he had a target painted in the center of his back.

Swindle quaffed the energon as fast as he could, beating a hasty retreat from the mess hall. Behind him, the snickering turned to outright laughter. He clenched his fist, furious that he'd been reduce to trembling and hiding in his own base, all because of those _fraggers_ over-sensitive _grudges._ Especially since he wasn't quite sure why he'd betrayed them – it had been stupid, impulsive, completely short-sighted... he saw his mistake! Why couldn't they just _drop it_ already?

He hurried back to the Combaticon's quarters, hoping to catch a little recharge before someone came back. Onslaught was on duty, Vortex was usually out and about at this hour – and he actually hadn't seen more than a rotor tip of the helicopter since that first confrontation after the team had come back online and found out what he'd done. Brawl and Blast Off could be anywhere. If he was lucky, they'd stay away long enough for him to actually get some rest for the first time since... the Incident.

He scowled as he punched in the code to his quarters. He'd show them, just wait. This would blow over, but he'd remember, and he'd pay them back for every dent and scrape and- why wouldn't his door open.

_Access denied._

The fraggers had changed the code to his quarters! Swindle kicked the door to his quarters in frustration. One more thing to the list to get back at them for. He'd find out who was responsible and make them _pay._

Heavy footsteps interrupted his dreams of petty revenge.

"Your grasp of the concept is scintillating," Blast Off was saying, voice muffled by the outer door.

"... You tryin' to say I stink?" Brawl demanded.

Swindle let his head _thunk_ against the door and groaned. Now what? It wasn't like he could go borrow _their_ quarters for a nap...

He looked up, an idea making his optics widen. No, but _Vortex_ wouldn't be around. The helicopter kept his quarters locked like everyone else, but he'd never been very careful about keeping the keypad hidden when he'd opened the door in front of Swindle. Onslaught's quarters would be even better, but the fragger changed his code so often that Swindle sometimes wondered how _he_ remembered it.

Swindle hurriedly punched in the passcode to Vortex's quarters and darted through before the door even finished opening. He slapped the _close_ and _lock_ keys, slumping against the wall in relief as the door slid shut just as the outer door opened and the shuttle stepped through.

"Hiding from the big bad tank?" A voice spoke up, making Swindle jump and whirl in alarm.

Vortex watched him from behind battlemask and visor, stretched out comfortably on his front across his berth, a datapad in hand.

"Uh, Vortex...I was just-" Lack of recharge was interfering with his normally glib tongue.

"Hiding," supplied Vortex, cocking his head in a way Swindle associated with a smile. "You can stay here. I don't mind."

Swindle cycled his optics and rebooted his audios. "What?"

Vortex wiggled a rotor at him. "I am ambivalent about your utilizing a room which I am occupying as a location for which to conceal yourself."

"You're not pissed at me?" Swindle stared.

"Nope," Vortex said, going back to his datapad.

"But you were- and-" A part of Swindle's processor was telling him to shut up and take advantage of the situation.

"Yup."

"You aren't planning on ripping out my fuel pump and using it as a wall hanging?"

"Nope. Too small, wouldn't fit my decor. But thanks for the offer." Vortex looked over at him again. "You look like a fish," he observed.

Swindle shut his mouth and tried to recover some of his dignity.

Vortex shook his head, and scooted over slightly to make room on the berth. He lifted his rotors a bit in silent invitation.

Swindle stared for a moment, weighing the possibility of a trap against the exhaustion bogging down his systems. He glanced around the room, then slid onto the berth next to his teammate, tucking himself under the rotors and feeling them settle down to rest across his back. Vortex went back to his datapad without a word.

"You're really not mad?" Swindle asked again, still wanting to reassure himself that Vortex wasn't going to suddenly turn and rip him limb from limb soon as he fell into recharge.

"Nope." Vortex didn't seem to find the repetitive questioning strange. "Blast Off got over it yesterday, but you might wanna avoid Brawl for a week or so."

"Oh," was all that Swindle could think to say to that, folding his arms to use as a pillow. "Hey, 'Tex?" he said a few moments later.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks," he mumbled, already half in recharge.

Vortex freed a hand from the datapad to pat him on the head. "No problem, Stumpy."


	12. Cunning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Onslaught and Brawl have been captured, Blast Off's off world, and Vortex and Stumpy are on the loose with no supervision. Run, Autobots! Claimed by [](http://bittereloquent.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://bittereloquent.livejournal.com/)**bittereloquent**

“Sooo...” Vortex drew the word out.

Swindle hunched down behind the rock outcropping. “Yeah?” he said, like it was no big deal that they were stuck in the middle of some Primus-forsaken mudhole, being hunted by Autobots, two of their team captured and Blast Off not due back for another two planetary cycles. “Frag,” he muttered, shaking the thick, clinging mud off his cannon. He scowled at Vortex and the helicopter’s cheerily bobbing rotors. “What’re you so happy about?”

“So,” Vortex repeated. “Onslaught’s caught, Blasty’s gone, so that means...?”

“That we’re fragged?” Swindle detached the cannon, glaring at the muck in the mechanism. “Ugh, it’s even up my barrel.”

“No,” Vortex corrected. “It means we’re completely unsupervised.”

Swindle frowned. “What’re you playin’ at?”

“Stumpy,” Vortex said with exaggerated patience. “You and me. Bunch of Autofreaks. _No supervision._ ”

There was a pause, then a slow grin spread across Swindle’s face. “So.”

“Yup.”

“Got any ideas on what we should do?” Swindle snapped the cannon back into place.

“A few.” Vortex wagged his rotors. “Only question is, what do we do first?”

x-x-x

“Look out beloooow!”

The body hit the ground at high speed, spraying Swindle with mud and internal fluids.

“HEY! Watch it, you crazy fragger!”

Vortex cackled, swooping past. “Duck, Stumpy!”

“You’re completely slagged in the processor, you know that?” Swindle wiped the mud off his face before moving over to look over the body. “Frag it, Tex! His weaponry’s completely slagged, plating’s ruined... how’m I supposed to turn a profit if you keep droppin’ it all?”

“Hey, stop whinin’, you already gotta bigger pile o’ scrap and weapons than you can carry yourself. So I dropped a couple, oopsies.” Vortex didn’t sound in the slightest bit sorry as he landed heavily nearby. “That’s the last of the scouts. They’ll be sendin’ out bigger patrols after ‘em.”

“Learn anything good?” Swindle kicked the body over, checking for anything salvageable.

“Yup. Gotta pretty good idea where they’re holdin’ Onslaught ‘n Brawlie,” Vortex said cheerfully.

“How ‘bout where they keep the _actual_ valuables?” Swindle asked dryly.

“Yeah,” Vortex said. “I got that. Know what else I got? Apparently this slagrock is hostin’ a whole pile o’ nuetrals, too. Autotrash’s been tradin’ with ‘em.” Swindle couldn’t see Vortex’s face, but he saw the rotors twist, light glittering down sharpened edges. “You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?”

Swindle grinned nastily.  


x-x-x

Onslaught leaned back against the wall of the improvised cell, contemplating his options. An arm length away, Brawl was sprawled out, deep in recharge. The Autobot base was an old manufacturing plant, but the walls were thicker than he could break through without his weaponry. _At least,_ he thought with dry humor, _Without attracting a lot of unwanted attention._

The Autobots who had managed to capture him were plentiful, if not highly trained. Frankly, if it wasn’t for how badly outnumbered they’d been, he’d be embarrassed to have been taken by such unprofessional troops. _Doubt there was a soldier in the lot._

Brawl’s engine coughed, and he stirred, rolling over before dropping right back into recharge. Onslaught watched him with mingled irritation and amusement. He certainly wouldn’t be recharging any time soon, not until he found a way to get them out of captivity.

Unfortunately, so far he hadn’t come up with a better plan than “Overpower and take hostage the next Autobot to open the cell door,” which frankly was not the best he’d ever come up with.

A muted series of tones alerted him to someone accessing the security lock. Onslaught tensed, getting his feet underneath him, ready to lunge.

The door slid open, a red and blue Autobot in the opening, with a panicked expression on his face, and a grey hand clenched against the back of his neck and a rifle barrel against his helm.

Vortex leaned into view, waggling a rotor. “Heya boss! Wanna ride?”

“Vortex?” Onslaught stared in disbelief.

“Yup. So, we gonna go get on that nice shuttle we went to all that trouble to steal, or should we wait for those Autobots to come back?” The helicopter laughed, and his captive shook. “Apparently, someone’s been killin’ their scouts and attacked some poor widdle neutrals, so they sent everyone out to find the big bad monster.”

Onslaught shook his head. “I’m going to want a full report - after we get out of here. Where’s Swindle?”

“Loadin’ up the goodies. Hey, Brawl!” Vortex shoved his captive inside, and followed, delivering a kick to Brawl’s treads. “Wakey!”

“Gmph.” Brawl lifted his head. “Oh, hey Tex. We goin’ home?”

“Yup. Get your aft up.”

Onslaught shook his head as Brawl clambered up. “I don’t suppose you happened across our equipment on your way in?”

“Nah, but you can have his,” Vortex said, passing over a rifle. “Stumpy’s emptying the armory, so maybe you’ll get lucky.” He fanned his rotors while Onslaught checked over the Autobot rifle with distaste. “C’mon, Ons, you can say it, I won’t tell.”

“Say what?” Onslaught asked, warily.

“‘Good job, Vortex’” Vortex waggled a rotor. “C’mon, three words, you can do it.”

“Get your aft moving,” Onslaught growled.

The helicopter laughed, and cut his captive’s fuel lines, letting him drop to the floor to bleed out. “You heard the boss, Brawlie, let’s go.”

“Oh, and Vortex?” Onslaught stopped the helicopter from following Brawl out.

“Yeah, boss?” Vortex cocked his head.

“Good job,” Onslaught said gruffly.

The helicopter laughed. “So does this mean I can keep my new widdle neutral toys we got on the shuttle?”

“Absolutely not.”  



End file.
